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ANNA ^\. PMILLEY 





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By 
ANNA M. PHILLEY 



Fort Wayne, Indiana 

Fort Wayne Printing Company 

Publishers 

1916 






Copyright 1916 

by 

ANNA M. PHILLEY 



DEC 26 \m 



Page Two 



^^ 



€)C!,.A4G3 5G-J 



Dedicated to 

My Parents, My Teachers, My Pupils 

and a host of loyal friends 




Page Three 



Author's Note 

In sending forth this little book of verse, I desire to 
acknowledge my indebtedness to the many friends who 
have made this publication possible. 

Among those who have given me encouragement, 
inspiration and advice are my uncle, Mr. U. U. Miller, 
Mr. Louis Dessauer, Mr. Forbes Morrison, Mr. Blossom, 
Mr. John Wilding and Miss Lida Harper. 

A. M. PHILLEY. 



Page FOtO" 



'5^ 



Foreword 

What is poetry? The glint of the stars, the shimmer 
of the sunlight, the breath of the flowers, the songs of the 
birds, the chant of the winds, the whispering of innumer- 
able voices by night and day, these some magician seizes 
and weaves into a song which stirs the fancy, kindles 
the imagination, wakens emotion, and with marvellous 
witchery sets the heart vibrating in harmony with the 
great world of life and nature. That is poetry, and the 
true poet is the friend and servant of all who travel in 
life's dusty ways. He uncovers springs at which way- 
faring men may drink. Blessed are they who are enabled 
thus to cheer and refresh their fellows! The messages of 
this little book will inspire gratitude and affection, be- 
cause they help us to see a little more clearly the glory 
and the meaning of our common life. 
J. F. VICHERT, 
Dean of Colgate Theological Seminary, 

Hamilton, New York. 






Illustrations 

/ 

I've jes come home from town, 

Where I had my picture took. 



Old, kindly faces are the best. 

Methinks I see our kith and kin 
From hall and countryside. 



And so you want a story? 
Little girl, little girl. 



I think I'm very pretty 
From bonnet down to shoe. 



Page Six 



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M 



Contents 

Page. 

Thoughts, Words, Deeds • 9 

Thanksgivin' Day's A-Comin' 10 

An Accusing Wind Versus an Accusing 

Conscience 12 

A Quizzer 13 

Telling Her Fate 14 

A Coincidence 15 

Autumn's Prophet 16 

A Story of Kernel Korn 18 

Happy 19 

Only a Shut-in 20 

My Sweetheart 21 

A Washington Party 22 

My Physicians Three 23 

Sixty Years 24 

Victoria 26 

The Other Day 27 

Ye Thanksgiving Menu 28 

Among the Stuff 29 

Ode to the Tube Rose 30 

'Mongst the Hills of Syracuse 31 

We've Been to the 'Sociation 32 

Greetings to Pastor Henson 35 



'^& 



Page Seven 



Evangeline 37 

The Seasons 38 

Nineteen Beautiful Years 40 

Thirteen Years of Service 42 

God's Best Gifts 44 

Uncle Urben's Story 46 

Satisfied 47 

Dedicating the Parsonage 48 

Oh, Brother Mine, Come Home 52 

On the Fence 53 

The Cross-bearing Christ 55 

Gone to Rest 56 




Page Eight 



~£& 



Thoughts, Words, Deeds 

If all the thoughts I've had today- 
Should suddenly take shape, I pray- 
How would I feel? What would I say? 

If all the words that I have said 
Should wake to life from out the dead, 
Would they to love and truth be wed? 



Of all the deeds which I have done 
From morn till eve, would there be one 
That I could feel His smile upon? 

My thoughts, my words, my deeds, I trow 
I would not have the world to know. 
And yet He knows them all; and so — 

Henceforth I'll strive to think aright, 
And speak the truth from morn till night. 
And do all things as in His sight. — 
Amen! 



'^& 



VC^ Paa« Nine 



Thanksgivin' Day's A-Comin* 

(To J. B. P.) 

Thanksgivin' day's a-comin', and, O, my 

goodness me! 
All the children an' the folks are tickled 

as can be! 
Goin' to Gran'pa's — every one, from Papa 

down to Midget! 
We can hardly wait the day, I jus' can't 

help but fidget! 

Gran'pa'll hitch up Bob and Bill, an' they 

will come a-prancin' 
*Way from Sunny Farm to here, an* 

that's why I'm a dancin'. 
There'll be rows an' rows o' pies upon the 

pantry shelf — 
An' dough-nuts, Um! an' cookies, too, 

where one can help hisself. 

Out in the shed the walnuts are, an* 

apples in the cellar! 
Oh, Gran'ma knows the way to treat a 

hungry city feller. 
At dinner-time, there's turkey — Oh! an' 

ham, an' hasty-puddin'. 
An' cake, fruit-Gake, an' all the rest, 

Oh, Gran'ma, she's a good'n'! 



Page Ten C^ \^S3 



^^ 



We all sit down and bow our heads while 

Gran' pa says the blessin' — 
An' tho' I ought not to, I know, I jus' 

can't keep from guessin' 
Which piece of turkey I will get, the 

drumstick or the gizzard — 
An' wonderin' if 'twill snow by night, 

or if there'll come a blizzard. 



When Granpa's thro, he says, ''Fall to, 

an' help yourselves" — an' landy! 
How the good things disappear from 

victuals down to candy. 
When dinner's thro', we stand an' sing, an* 

then comes fun an' frolic 
For all the folks that haven't got that 

pain they call "the colic." 



Thanksgivin' day's a-comin, an' O, my 

goodness me! 
All the children and the folks are tickled 

as can be! 
Goin' to Gran'pa's — every one, from Papa 

down to Midget; 
We can hardly wait the day, I jus* can't 

help but fidget! 



^^ 



Pace Eleven 



An Accusing Wind Versus 
An Accusing Conscience 



Grandmother's spectacles broken lay, 
And who was the guilty one, pray? — 

pray? 
"It was not I," said little May; 
But the accusing wind was heard to say- 

"YOU— YOU— YOU— " 
Alas, alas, for little May. 



A broken dish on the pantry shelf. 
And Bridget mutters to herself — 
"I'll say that Ned's the naughty elf," 
To which the tell-tale wind replied 

"YOU— YOU— YOU— " 
(Said Bridget—) 
"Faith, an' how did you know I lied?" 



A name is forged; the money gone; 
The villain mutters, in undertone, 
"My heinous crime I'll never own." 
And then the wind made awful moan- 

"YOU— YOU— YOU— " 
And soon the world had known. 



Page Twelve 



'^& 



A Quizzer 

(A Spanish-American war reminiscence) 

"Say, Papa, what did Dewey do 

That people called him great?" 
"He took Manila folk by storm 

And sealed a nation's fate." 
"Was Sampson son of Uncle Sam — 

The reason people rave?" 
"Oh, no, my boy, he was the man 

Who did our squadron save." 

"Well, there's the man that they call 
Schley, 

How sly. Papa, was he?" 
"Just sly enough, my little man, 

To set poor Cuba free." 
"And how about that Hobson, Pa? 

Was he old Hobbe's boy, 
The one we read about, you know. 

In 'Little Fauntleroy'?" 

"Young Hobson, he's the man who sank 

The good ship Merrimac; 
And bottled poor Cervera up 

Without an outward track." 
"Did Shafter build a mighty shaft 

To plunge the Spaniards through?" 
"Keep still, my son, I'm reading now 

What next the 'Powers' will do." 



5 



\^J P^oe Thirteen 



Telling Her Fate 

''Rich man, poor man," Oh! dear me! 
Wonder what my fate will be? 
"Beggar-man, thief," like as not 
Man of that sort will be my lot. 

"Doctor, lawyer" — Oh! my eyes! 
Wouldn't I cause a great surprise, 
If a lawyer gay should come some day 
And take me as his bride away? 

"Merchant, chief;" why, Charley Brown — 
Who knew you had come to town? 
Why do I blush? And what did I say? 
No matter; but say, Charley, say, 

How are the folk at Sunny Farm? 
Poor as ever? That's no harm. 
Riches sometimes wings will take 
And a poor man quickly make 

Of him whose heart's a mine of gold! 
What's that you say? The farm is sold? 
Struck it rich in oil? And you, 
Rich as any wandering Jew? 

Name the day? Why, Charley Brown, 
Is this why you came to town? 
My heart's been yours a year or more — 
Say, why didn't you ask before? 

"Rich man, poor man, beggar-man, thief, 
Doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief"; 
"Rich man, poor man," both in one, 
Happiest girl under the sun! 



Page Fourteen 



£& 



A Coincidence 

He said, **I beg your pardon;" 
Said she, '* 'Tis granted, sir." 

Thus they addressed each other 
A-meeting on the stair. 

He waited till she passed him 
And then looked back to smile. 

And she? Well, she did likewise — 
And turned about the while. 

Her smile grew into laughter, 
And he, yes, he laughed too; 

Oh, no, they were not flirting, 
That they would never do! 

For he — he was a parson, 

And she a spinster old, 
And neither would be guilty 

Of act so rude or bold. 

Then why this burst of laughter? 

The cause I'll now unfold; 
Because they each were wearing 

A simple card marked "SOLD"- 

Pinned on by some small urchin 
Who shouted "APRIL FOOL!" 

Then dashed around the corner 
And soon was lost in school. 



s 



*f 



\^^ Paoe Fifteen 



Autumn's Prophet 

(To E. A. K. H.) 

Do you hear that pesky locust 

A whettin' up 'is wings? 
He's gittin' ready fer to saw 

That raspin' song he sings 

About the fall a comin' 

When trees is loaded down, 

An' barns is nigh to bustin' 
Afore the hungry town 

Gits their share o' the harvest, 
An' all that sort o' thing, — 

He knows what he's a-sayin', 
Jes' listen to 'im sing. 

I like to shet my eyes up tight 

An' hear 'im prophesy 
About the frost that nips the leaves 

An' makes 'em look pret-nigh 

As if a painter'd tuk 'is brush 

An' gin 'em all a dash 
O' red and yaller, pink and brown, 

All in one mighty splash! 

An' then it 'pears like's if I hear 
The cider gurglin' through 

The press all heaped with apples 
So red and juicy, too. 



Page Sixteen ^J) \^Q 



^^ 



An' then I listen elost an' hear 

The fodder rustlin' like 
When huskin'-bees is ripe, you know; 

Oh, it's a pretty sight 

To see the fellers an' their gals 

All settin' in a row, 
A-rippin' off the ragged husks 

The yaller corn to show. 

An' as his song clean dies away 

I hold my breath a spell, 
To hear the cows a-comin' home 

An' gather round the well. 

An' as the sun slips down the west 

A-turnin' day to night — 
The crickets, one by one, jine in 

An' sing with all their might. 

Hark! there's that sassy Katy-did 

A-puttin' in her say, — 
It aint exactly musical; 

But I dunno, some-way, 

I wouldn't change a single note 

O' the lazy, wheezy tune, 
Fer tho' it's sad an' lonesome like 

An' wouldn't do fer June, 
It sort o' seems to fit the fall, 

An' I'd feel kind o' queer, 
If the locust an' his chorus 

Didn't come 'bout onct a year. 



^^ 



Page Seventeen 



The Story of Kernel Korn 

(To M. P. S.) 

'Twas at a Korn Konvention 

A Kernel rose and said: 
"Please give me your attention" — 

That moment he dropped dead! 

This caused a great commotion, 
As you may well surmise, 

Then some one made a motion — 
And tears were in his eyes — 

"Since our beloved Kernel 
Has died, I move that he 

Be laid in gardens vernal 
His epitaph to be: 

"Here lies a loving brother. 
His name was Kernel Korn. 

He was so like his mother, 
And we are left forlorn." 

Thus Kernel Korn was planted; 

And was he mourned as dead? 
Not so, he grew and multiplied, 

And hungry mortals fed. 



Page Eighteen 



G& 




My Auntie bought this bonnet. 

She bought my new frock, too! 

I think I'm very pretty. 

From bonnet down to shoe. 



Dame Shulze — in whose green garden 

The Kernel had been laid, 
Saw little Korns a-coming, 

And to herself she said: 

"Our church needs cash so badly — 

A dollar I must give; 
I'll pop these little Kernels 

And sell them, as I live!" 

Forthwith the Korn descendants 
Were placed within a popper. 

Then rolled in balls, and sold were they, 
By Madam Shulze's daughter. 



Happy 

My auntie bought this bonnet, 
She bought this new frock, too ; 
I'm sure I'm very pretty 
From bonnet down to shoe. 

I'm going to the city 
With my big brother Jack 
Who'U buy me lots of candy, 
And pop-corn in a sack. 






Only a Shut-in 

(To M. G. S.) 



Only a shut-in! but I can pray 
For the millions of souls that suffer today, 
For the legions of toilers now on their way. 
Only a shut-in! but I can pray. 



Only a shut-in! but I can weep 

With the countless thousands who this 

day keep, 
Watch o'er their loved ones forever asleep. 
Only a shut-in! but I can weep. 



Only a shut-in! but I can smile 
At the little crosses I bear the while. 
For no sorrows enter that Blessed Isle. 
Only a shut-in! but I can smile. 



Only a shut-in! but I can dream 

Of the wondrous beauties as yet un-seen; 

Of the streets so broad in their silver 

sheen. 
Only a shut-in! but I can dream. 



Page Twenty 



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Only a shut-in! but I can sing 

Of our blessed Lord, of our risen King, 

Of the day when His ransomed home He'll 

bring. 
Only a shut-in! but I can sing. 

Only a shut-in! but I can do 
Numberless things that will help me and 

you, 
Beautiful deeds that are noble and true; 
Only a shut-in! but I can do. 

Only a shut-in! but still I'm glad 

I may love the children neglected and sad, 

And the men and women the world deems 

bad. 
Only a shut-in! but still I'm glad. 



My Sweetheart 


My sweetheart? 


His eyes are of the brown, 


His heart is of the true, 


His hair is of the gold, 


I love him — yes, I do. 


Such a dear little man; 


But I won't tell — who! 


^J) \^^ Page Twenty-one 



A Washington Party 

(To Margaret M.) 



I'm dressed for a Washington party, 

And I'm going, too, I am. 
With big brother Nate, and good sister 
Kate, 

And jolly old Uncle Sam. 



I'm an ancient colonial dame, 
And my gown is ancient, see? 

I can court'sy low. 

And move so slow, 

You would hardly know 'twas me. 



We shall dance the "Old Minuet" 
That grandma danced long ago; 

My little friend Sue and her brother 
Hugh 
Will lead in the march, just so. 



Brother Nate is so proud of me. 

He's going to wear wonderful clothes; 

A swell velvet coat, made in days remote, 
Buckled shoes, and real silk hose. 



Page Twenty-two 



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And he's going to dance first with me, 
For I'm his Martha you know; 

And he will be George, so handsome and 
large 
I can hardly wait to go. 

Uncle Sam, in his red, white and blue, 
Will be sister Kate's ancient beau; 

She'll court'sy sweet, he'll bow so neat, 
And off in the dance they'll go. 

Hark! that's Nate a-calling me, so 
You'll kindly excuse me now; 

Here are kisses for all, for the great and 
the small. 
And a stately minuet bow. 



My Physicians Three 

To my physicians three. 
Faith, Hope, and Charity, 

To thee I sing. 
Faith helps me do the right, 
Hope leads me to the Light, 
Love guides me by His might, 
Jehovah — King! 



5 



\^S3 ^'^^^ Twenty-three 



Sixty Years 

(To my father and mother) 

In days when we were younger, dear, 

Than we two are tonight. 
When life was all before us twain, 

And everything seemed bright, 
Ere sorrow knew our dwelling-place, 

And joy was ours alone, 
We stood to take our marriage vows 

In that dear place called home. 

Methinks I see our kith and kin. 
From hall and country-side, 

Assembled in that sacred room 
Where I was made your bride; 

And some were gay and some were sad 
As solemnly and slow 

You led me to the altar — just sixty years 
ago! 

And as the pastor said the words 

That made us man and wife, 
And prayed God's benediction 

Might upon us rest thro' life. 
We felt a rare new happiness 

That came like morning dew, 
Or manna in the desert place, 

As strange as it was new. 



Page Twenty-four ^2> \_S ^ 



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Met/link I see our kith and kin. 

From hall and country side. 
Assembled in that sacred room 

Where I was made your bride; 
And some were gay, and some were sad. 

As, solemnly and slow. 
You led me to the altar there. 

Just sixty years ago. 



Then followed greetings of our friends- 

The old folk and the young, 
As with one voice all joy they wished, 

The wedding hymn was sung; 
And thus another bark was launched 

Upon the tide of years, 
And joy and pain were mingled 

And smiles gave way to tears. 

Oh, could we see those faces here, 

That graced that festal board. 
And hear familiar voices sweet, 

That now no more are heard, 
We'd gladly bid farewell to time, 

And live that season o'er. 
When life was one long holiday 

And we cared naught for more. 



Old, kindly faces are the best, 

And still love the new; 
But could we change things for tonight, 

Just bring before our view 
The homely scenes that once we loved, 

Just be as we were then, 
Would we be happy, do you think? 

Or would we wonder when 



5 



VC_y Page Twenty-five 



Our ship with all its promised freight, 

Would cross life's ocean wide 
And bring to us that longed-for peace 

For which all men have sighed? 
And yet which few have e'er attained, 

Because we fain would be 
Some other-where than where we are, 

For that's humanity. 

Perhaps we'd better be content 

With blessings as they come; 
So as the added years creep on 

Let's pray, "Thy will be done," 
For well we know His will is best 

In great things and in small. 
And that His love is infinite, 

Who ruleth over all. 



Victoria 

(To N. D. W. V.) 

Victoria's hills are bonnie, 

Victoria's skies are blue — 
'Twas there I met my laddie, 

My laddie tried and true. 
My laddie tried and true, 

Who luved me then as noo, 
And for my bonnie laddie, 

I'd hve, yes die, for you! 



Page Twenty-six 





And when the pastor said the words 

That made us man and wife. 
And prayed God's benediction 

Might upon us rest thro' life. 
We fell a rare new happiness 

That came like morning dew. 
Or manna in the desert place — 

As rare as it was new. 



The Other Day 

(In memory of Addie Davis Stone, who died 
March 25, 1898) 

The other day in childish glee, 

She prattled at her mother's knee. 

In happy, gladsome, winsome ways, 
She served to brighten all our days, 
The other day. 

The other day, young girlhood's dreams 
Shone thro' her eyes in gentle gleams. 

For Love came by with subtle wile 
And took her captive by his smile, 
The other day. 

The other day a happy bride. 
We saw her at her lover's side. 

And all the world was then aglow 
And life was joyous here below 
The other day. 

The other day, a mother's joy 

'Twas hers to know; a darling boy 

Was sent to brighten her sweet home, 
And help to make "His Kingdom come" 
The other day. 

The other day 'twas her delight 
Again to welcome to the light 

A little soul, — her legacy — 

Just left to comfort you and me, 
The other day. 



^. 



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Page Twenty-seven 



The other day God called her home 
To be with Him and ne'er to roam. 

'Twas hard for us to see her die — 

'Twas hard, alas, to say, "Goodbye — " 
The other day. 

Some other day we hope to meet — 
This loved one gone, at Jesus' feet, 

And bring her jewels sweet and fair — ■ 
To deck the crown that she shall wear, 
Some other day. 



Ye Thanksgiving Menu 

Mashed potatoes and turkey hot. 
Bread and butter and cheese, 
Escalloped oysters and cranberry sauce, 
And more as good as these. 
Chicken salad, and olives, and corn. 
Ham, — and pumpkin piel 
Apples, and grapes, and hickory-nuts, 
And cocoa-nut cake. Oh, my! 
Yes and stomach-cake (ache) too 
Will be sandwiched in between 
With fruit and coffee and "toasts," 
And then we'll have ice cream! 



Page Twenty-eight 



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Among the Stuff 

(1st Samuel, 10-22) 

As a beautiful butterfly folding its wings 
And suspending itself 'mid the branches, 
Appeareth like unto a leaf 
As it sways to and fro in the sunlight: 
Thus concealing itself from the eye of him 
Who might seek it. — 
Or as the cunning blue heron, 
(Pursued by the vigilant hunter) 
Pointing its beak toward the heavens — 
Its wings and its tail drooping earth- 
ward — 
Seemeth to be but a rush — 
Standing 'mong rushes so mutely — 
Even so Saul, son of Kish, 
When sought of the Lord as a ruler, 
Foolishly hid 'mong the stuff. 

Oh, brother mine, are you hiding 
Behind your firkins of butter, 
Behind your counter of dry goods, 
Your desk, your chisel, your anvil? 
May not the Lord say of you, — 
''Behold, he hath hid 'mong the stuff." 
Today he calleth for kings, 
Who, like Saul, are stalwart and manly; 
To stand even now 'mong the people. 
And teach them the fear of the Lord. 



5 



V^^ i Page Twenty-nine 



And you my sister beloved, 

Are the manifold cares of the household, 

The worries and flurries of fashion — 

That beset this century's Marthas — 

Now dulling your ears to his call? 

Oh, hear! for queens he is calling, 

Mothers, wives, sisters and daughters, 

Who from the duties of home-life. 

Of office or study or schoolroom. 

Find yet a time, as did Mary, 

To sit at the feet of the Lord, 

Learning from him the sweet lessons of 

love, 
Of love and of patient endurance. 



Ode to the Tube Rose 

Within my hand a flower I hold, 

Whose language is, "Dangerous Pleas- 
ures" — 
But its fragrance is so pure and sweet 

I think I'll keep it 'mong my treasures. 
And though it fade and wilt away, 

Losing its fragrance and its flashes. 
Fond memory'll come and hover o'er 

And cherish still its scentless ashes. 



Page Thirty 



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'Mongst the Hills of Syracuse 

(To C. C. B.) 

'Mongst the hills of Sj^acuse, 
With my fancies running loose, 
Wish I were a-wand'ring still, 
Whither-will, yes, whither-will. 

Wish that I could roam once more, 
Climbing, climbing, o'er and o'er 
'Mongst the sumach all aglow; 
Rocks; and rills that rudely flow. 

How 'twould rest a soul like me 
Just to wander aimlessly; 
Just to breathe — with no excuse — 
'Mongst the hills of Syracuse. 

Now in mem'ry all the scenes 
Come before me as in dreams. 
Birds in shrubs, and birds in trees, 
Swaying in sweet-scented breeze. 

Then the city in the vale. 
In the smoky light grows pale; 
Church-towers pierce the sunset sky 
Growing blacker by and by. 

Yes, 'twould rest a soul like me 
Just to wander aimlessly, 
Just to breathe — with no excuse — 
'Mongst the hills of Syracuse. 



5 



\^^j Page Thirty-one 



"We've Been to the 'Sociation" 

(Uncle Ephraim Smith's Testimony) 



We've been to the 'sociation — 

Wife an' me — 
A hearin' 'bout the churches, 

Don't you see? 
What they're doin', what they ain't, 
Fer the sinner an' the saint; 
It's a mighty interestin' 

Place to be. 



I allowed, jes' as we started — 

Her an' me — 
That they couldn't teach us nothin', 

No, sir-ee! 
For we've lived on this 'ere sphere 
Well nigh onto seventy year, 
An' we hed our sheer o' learnin'. 

Her an' me. 



Well, we got there bright and airly 

On that day, 
'Cause the folks that lives the furthest- 

So they say — 
Alius gits to church on time, 
Be it rain, er be it shine, 
Er a-freezin' er a-thawin' 

As it may. 



Page Thirty-two 



G& 



Sakes! I wisht I jes' could tell you 

All we heered; 
But you wouldn't quite believe it, 

I'm a-f eared, 
'Cause it sounds most like a story. 
Why, you feel like shoutin' — ''Glory!" 
Right in meetin' ; but you dassent 

'Cause you're skeered. 

Now we thought we give to missions — 

Me an' Kate — 
Fer we alius put a dollar 

On the plate 
When they pass it, one't a year, 
Fer them heathen that aint here — 
I b'lieve they call 'em "furrin," 

Don't they, Kate? 

An' then onc't agin for them folks 

Here to home. 
Who air heathen, but don't know it; 

Yet are prone 
To see the fault of others, 
Their sisters an' their brothers, 
That don't do jes's they'd orter 

Here to home. 

But about that school at Franklin, 

That's the best; 
Why, there aint a school quite like it 

East er west! 
Leastwise that's the way they spoke, 
An' we knowed it warn't no joke, 
Fer they never laughed er nothin' — 

That's the test. 



& 



\^S^ Paoe Thirty-three 



There's a man that they call Carr — 

Dun know why, 
Les' it's 'cause he makes things go 

Pretty spry. 
He haint go no engine look, 
But he knows things like a book. 
He 'twas told us 'bout this college, 

Her an' I. 

No, our boys hev growed to manhood. 

Gals the same — 
That is, they hev swapped their girlhood 

Fer a name. 
One hes changed the Smith to Brown, 
T'other's gone to live in town 
With her man (of some renown), 

Peter Blaine. 

So we can't send them to college. 

Can we dear? 
But we're not swamped so easy, 

Fer see here; 
We've grandchildren, a host, 
A round dozen we kin boast, 

An' we'll send them — least an' most — 

Won't we dear? 

Now I'll tell you in concludin' 

(Pert-nigh through) 
That we make a good investment. 

Me an' you. 
When we help to ejucate 
Boys and girls for Jesus' sake, 
An' we'll git our pay in heaven. 

Me an' you. 



Page Thirty-four 



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Greetings to Pastor Henson 

One day we say, ''Farewell!" 

The next we bid, "Good morrow." 

We come, we go; 

Yet well we know 

That every thrill of joy 

Must meet its throb of sorrow. 

To one we say "Goodbye," 

With trembling voice and tearful, 

And one we greet 

With welcome sweet 

Our faces wreathed in smiles, 

Our voices glad and cheerful. 

Here past and present join, 

The shadow changed to shining. 

The future bright. 

Dawns on our sight, 

And clouds no more we see. 

Instead the silver lining. 

'Tis no unbidden guest. 
We hail with salutation; 
But pastor, friend. 
Whom God doth lend 
Awhile, to share our joys, 
And offer consolation. 



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\S0 Po.oe Thirty-five 



Then welcome to our church, 

Our Zion "hill surrounded." 

The young, the old. 

Of this thy fold 

Do now a greeting bring, 

Our love to you unbounded. 

Our city welcome brings, 

And says, with hand extended, 

"Your prayers I crave. 

My youth to save; 

From sin's seducing charms. 

Pray thou they be defended." 

Our own B. Y. P. U., 

The child of our affection, 

Would now salute. 

In language mute. 

The one who holds her dear. 

And strives for her protection. 

And now the Juniors come. 
With loyal hearts and loving. 
They bring sweet flowers, 
To cheer the hours. 
Their gratitude to show, 
Their love for you thus proving. 



Page Thirty-six 



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Unitedly we stand 

To give you Christian greeting. 

The weak, the strong, 

A valiant throng, 

Their willing service pledge, 

At this initial meeting. 

Long may you live 

To tell the gospel story. 

May it be ours, 

To see thy powers 

Increase from day to day, 

From glory unto glory. 

As weeks advance to months, 

The months to years progressing, 

May we still stand, 

A faithful band. 

Round him whom God hath sent, 

Then we may claim His blessing. 



Evangeline 

(To C. B. F.) 

Evangeline, Evangeline, 

God bless my dear Evangeline, 

God keep her pure as are her flowers, 

God shield her thro' the darksome hours, 

Evangeline, Evangeline. 

God bless my dear Evangeline. 



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\(^ Page Thirty-seven 



The Seasons 

When "Spring, Etherial Maiden," comes, 
Decked in her gown of daintiest green, 
With sprays of pink and lavender. 
Swayed in the sunshine's shimmering 
sheen, 

We say — 

And honestly we say it — 
Of all the seasons of the year, 
Spring is to us the one most dear. 
She is the fairest of the fair. 
And breathes a fragrance rich and rare. 
Yes, Spring, of seasons, is the queen, 
The sweetest maiden ever seen, 
We say — 

And honestly we say it. 

Then Summer, dignified and calm. 
Steps on the throne, and Spring steps down, 
A richer green and lavender 
In folds and frills of queenly gown. 
We say — 

And truthfully we say it — 
Of all the seasons of the four 
Sweet Summer pleases more and more. 
She is so stately, but not proud, 
Tho' not all sunshine — yet a cloud 
May lend true beauty — yes, my dear. 
Sweet Summer's fairest of the year. 
We say— 

And truthfully we say it. 



Page Thirty-eight 



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Next, somber Autumn mounts the throne, 
All dressed in robe of richest brown, 
A dash of yellow, then of red, 
And on her brow a beauty frown. 
We say — 

And stoutly, too, we say it — 
Tho' Autumn's sad, she's very dear; 
She comes to us just once a year. 
All laden down with fruitage rare, 
Which she so willingly doth share. 
Yes, Summer's sweet, and Spring is fair, 
But Autumn! None with her compare! 
We say — 

And stoutly, too, we say it. 



Then hoary Winter, all in white, 
Majestically the scepter wields, 
While every subject, graciously, 
To him a subject's homage yields. 
We say — 

And proudly now we say it — 
Tho Winter's cold, aye, and severe. 
We never doubt that he's sincere. 
Most feelingly he doth persuade 
That Winter old must be obeyed. 
Yes, we love Summer, Spring, and Fall, 
But dear old Winter best of all! 
We say — 

And proudly now we say it. 



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"Nineteen Beautiful Years" 

(In Memory of Walter) 

"Nineteen beautiful years!" 

How spent? 
Loving, giving; giving, loving. 

Just lent 
To us for a while 

To brighten our home. 
And kindle a smile, 

Then leaves us alone. 

"Nineteen beautiful years!" 

So sweet! 
Sowing, reaping; reaping, sowing. 

Complete 
Is the harvest yield ; 

No tares are found 
In this fertile field, 

No untilled ground. 

"Nineteen beautiful years!" 

And then? 
Sighing, parting; parting, sighing. 

Oh, when 
Shall these partings cease, 

And we find that rest. 
And that longed-for peace 

That awaits the blest? 



Page Forty <^ \.S3 



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"Nineteen beautiful years!" 

And now — 
Singing, praising; praising, singing. 

Oh, how 
Dare we wish him here, 

Where pain and sin. 
And where doubt and fear 

May enter in. 

"Nineteen beautiful years!" 

Now there 
Resting, waiting; waiting, resting. 

He's where 
Partings never come. 

Sighing is not known, 
Living just begun 

In that "Home; sweet home." 




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Page Forty-one 



Thirteen Years of Service 

(To Dr. and Mrs. S. A. Northrop) 

Thirteen years of service! 

How sweet to serve for Him. 
Thirteen years of pleading 
With souls to "enter in." 
And all these years 
Through smiles and tears 
Out trust in God has been. 



Thirteen years of hoping! 

It seems but days to be, 
Thirteen years of praying 

That men their Lord may see; 
But all the while 
The Savior's smile 
Has said: "Hope thou in Me." 

Thirteen years of waiting! 

Yet some have failed to hear. 
Thirteen years of sowing, 

And harvest-time draws near. 
Lord, if we may 
We'll lead today 
These souls Thyself to fear. 



Page Forty-two 



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Thirteen years of weeping 

With those God called to weep. 
Thirteen years rejoicing, 

With those whose joy's complete, 
We laughed, we sighed, 
Nor e'er denied, 
Christ's sympathy so sweet. 

Thirteen years of loving 

And being loved as well. 
Thirteen years! Oh, dear ones, 
The old, old story tell, 
Till all the fold, 
The young, the old. 
Shall hear the ''Gospel Bell." 

Thirteen years of service! 

Now to another field. 
Thirteen years! Oh, Father! 
Help us our all to yield; 
To live for Thee, 
To die, may be 
For Christ, our "Sun and Shield." 



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y_^j Page Forty-three 



God's Best Gifts 

We cannot eat a diamond, 

Nor yet an opal drink; 
A silver dollar gives not breath, 

Nor can it make us think. 

The rarest things are not the best 

He gives to you and me; 
But those of which we have the most 

That come so full, so free. 

He giveth his beloved sleep 

Oh, blessing rich and rare! 
That comes to young and old alike, 

The child, and man of care. 

When Hunger comes with visage gaunt, 
And knocks at your dark door, 

Will jewels rare suffice your need? 
Do you not ask for more? 

And when your lips are parched with 
thirst, 

Naught can that thirst allay 
But water pure; and/ree as pure, 

Just water, day by day. 



Page Forty-four 



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Man does not know the worth oj air 

Until in some dark cave, 
He prays the Lord for just a breath 

His ebbing hfe to save. 

Have you a place that you call home. 
That shields from cold and heat? 

What in exchange would you accept? 
Is there a spot more sweet? 

Hence, God's best gifts are those that all 
May have, and have them free. 

Not all the wealth this old world holds 
Can rob us — you and me! 

And so, my friend, let gratitude 

For these best gifts be ours. 
Let's thank Him then for all He sends 

Of sun, and shade, and showers. 




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Page Forty-five 



Uncle Urben's Story 

And so you want a story, 
Little girl, little girl! 
What shall it be about. 
Little girl, little girl! 
"About my flock o' sheep?" 
Very well, little girl. 
Very well. 

I had a flock o' sheep. 
And they cried,— "Bah! Bah!" 
From morning until eve 
They just cried,— "Bah! Bah!" 

I led them into pastures green, 

And near the brook to drink, 

I shielded them from howling wolves, 

All danger — so I think — 

But they cried, — Bah! Bah! 

From morning until eve. 

They just cried, — Bah! Bah! 

From morning until eve. 

One day a burly Indian chief 
In all his paint and feathers — 
Surrounded by his loyal aids, 
(And 'twas the worst of weathers) 
Demanded that the flock be his, 
That I my rights surrender. 
I sat upon my pony's back, — 



Page Forty-six 



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And so you want a slory, 
Liltle nirl, /title gtr/f 

What shall it be about, 
Little girl, little girl! 

About my /lock o' sheep? 
Very well, little girl, 
I'erv well. 



My faithful dog, remember, 

Was showing white, his glist'ning teeth, 

His sleek coat all a-bristle. - 

"What did / do?" My little girl, 

I breathed a long, low whistle, 

And soon my faithful dog and I 

With Pony sped away 

Into the canyon gray and cold. 

The canyon cold and gray. 

I never saw my sheep again 

I never heard their bleat. 

And that's the reason I came home 

To see you — Marguerite. 

I'll never shepherd sheep again, 
I'll never list their bleating, — 
"Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah!" 
Their sad and dreary bleating! 
"Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah!" 
Their awful, lonely bleating! 



Satisfied 

I'm Jes' come home from town, 
Where I had my picture took, 
The pho-to-graph-er-man he said: 
"Now this way, sonny, look!" 
I looked, an' Jim-i-nee! 
I saw a bumble-bee! 
An' 'fore I knowed it, why — 
"Your picture's look,'' said he. 



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Page Forty-seven 



Dedicating the Parsonage 

(To Dr. and Mrs. L. L. Henson) 

An' so you'd like to hear, you say, 
About the parsonage — the way 
'Twas opened up fer show that day? 

Waal, how shall I begin? 
'Twas New Years, — got that down? An* 

we 
(My wife, son John, his wife, an' me) 
Concluded that we'd go to see 

This place so neat an' trim. 



Fer we'd invested quite a sum 

So that our preacher' ed hev a hum 

Where he an' his an' all could come 

An feel they had a right. 
John teched a button on the door, 
An' it flew open fer us four. 
Then some one said "Up stairs," no moref 

An' so we made the flight. 



Them carpets that we tramped upon 
Wuz soft an' green as this here lawn 
Is, when warm spring days is come 

Er lazy days o' June. 
It tuk me back to our old farm. 
Where free from care, an' free from harm, 
We sniffed the breezes sweet an' warm, 

An* heered the blue-birds sing. 



Page Forty-eight 



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I've jes' come home from town. 
Where I had my picture took. 



Two pretty girls up stairs we met, 
Who helped us off our wraps to get, 
(I shet my eyes an' see 'em yet) 

An' then we hurried down. 
The parson met us at the stair, 
His wife, too, an' more folks wuz there 
A-askin' of us — "how we air?" 

An' "when we come to town?" 

An' after we hed talked a bit — 

About the house, an' all in it, 

The weather, an' the books that's writ, 

An' some more talk like this — 
A lady asked us — would we see 
The dinin' room an' hev some tea 
Er coffee! An' John, says, says he: — 

"We've been to dinner, Miss." 



But she jes' walked us out perlite, 
An' when we got there sech a sight 
O' prettiness we saw! You might 

Go north 'n south, 'n east 'n west; 
Yes, sir, you might, an' back again, 
'N not see sech a home-like-ness. An' 

when 
They give us that ice-cream, why then 

We et it like the rest. 



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\^^ Pane Forty-nine 



Why, them 'ere girls 'at passed the things 
Jes' moved about zif they hed wings! 
An' pretty soon one o' them sings — 

Will you hev a waifer? 
A way fer ivhat, I says, says I; 
An' then John's wife, says she, "Oh,my!*« 
An' corse I knowed I'd done it. "Why?" 

Couldn't a told ye nuther. 



But I can't see how I'm to know 
About these things folks eat fer show. 
Yes, I s'pose they'll call me "slow" — 

Well, so is "Uncle Sam." 
But I know now. It's a thing you eat, 
An' it snaps like crackers, but is sweet, 
An' long, an' slim, an' it takes a heap 
To feed a hungry man. 



"The parsonage?" I most forgot 
Where I wuz at. Well, it is what 
I'd call a pretty home; a spot 

Where love an' comfort air. 
The house is built real strong an' good, 
An' finished off with hard, oak wood; 
An' made to stand (at least it could) 

A heap o' wear an' tear." 



Pa ge Fifty 



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"L. L. Henson, Attorney at Law/* 
This sign on the study- wall we saw; 
It puzzled me, an' puzzled maw. 

Say, now can you explain? 
"He used to be a lawyer," — Oh! 
Well, I am glad this fact to know; 
An' that's how he learned to argy so, 
An t' gain his p'int." I want to know! 

Well, now I see it plain. 

Yes, "Deacon Bowser" wuz on hand, 
An' "Trustee Wort," I understand. 
An' "Carter" found the lay o' land, 

Escorted by his wife. 
"John Ferguson" he wuz there too, 
An' that big man they call "La Rue." 
If I should name them all to you, 

'T would take me all my life. 



Well, no, not quite; but then you see 
It wuz a good big company 
Of folks that hed a pedigree, 

An' them as has it not. 
Lawyers, doctors, there I saw; 
Merchants, blacksmiths, well — Oh, pshaw! 
When you go home, you ask your paw, 

Fer he wuz 'mong the lot. 



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\^Q Page Fifty-one 



"You must be goin?" Well, good-bye, 
An' when you write this up, jest try 
To make it sound's tho' 'twant I 

A-tellin' of it — see? 
'Cause grammar's some thin' I dunno, 
You fix it up to sound as tho' 
A real born writer wrote it so, 

An' not one sech as me. 



Oh, Brother Mine, Come Home 

Oh, brother mine, come home, 

You're sad, and weary and lone; 

And you long for Him 

Who can free from sin 

And make you pure within. 

Oh, brother mine — come home, come 

home. 
Oh, brother mine, come home. 
Oh, brother mine, come home. 

Oh, brother mine, come home, 

The way seems dark I know; 

But One who loves you 

Waits to welcome 

Welcome home his own. 

He's loved you long, He loves you still, 

Oh, brother mine, come home, 

Oh, brother mine, come home. 



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On the Fence 



Yes, old man, I'm on the fence, 

Been there fer a week; 
'Ceptin' nights an' meal- time, sir. 

When I eat an' sleep. 



No, we haven't quarreled, Jim, — 
Me an' Kate, — not we; 

For when we got married, we 
Promised to agree. 



An' so we dassen't quarrel; 

But we're mighty mum, 
Fer ye see we're cleanin' house 

Over to our hum. 



Wife's a gentle critter, sir, 

Year in an' year out. 
Only when she's cleanin' house ; 

Then, why then, she'll pout. 



At the least false move I make, 

Why I hardly know 
Where to set, er lay, er stand, 

Er jes' where to go! 



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\^$3 ^"^oe Fifty-three 



If I speak up peart an' say : 
"Kate, this grub is good" — 

Like as not she'll up and say, 
"Here, git me some wood!" 



If I say the weather's fine, 
Guess I'll take a trip; 

She'll say in her sassy way; 
"Better get a whip 



An' beat carpets fer a spell; 

Exercise your bones!" 
That's the way she talks to me, 

In them very tones! 



I can't even sleep in peace, 
Fer jis' like as not 

Fer a bed-feller I'll hev 
Some old coffee-pot. 



Fer things gets all skew-hawed, from 

Dawn till set of sun. 
So I set here on the fence 

Till the cleanin's done. 



Paoe Fifty-four 



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The Cross-Bearing Christ 

The cross-bearing Christ, 

Have you seen Him? 
That strange "Man of Sorrows" who came 
To bear on his shoulders your burden, 
To lift you from sin and from shame? 

The cross-bearing Christ, 

Do you know Him? 
Who left the bright mansions above 
To come down to earth-life so lowly, 
That sinners might know of God's love? 

The cross-bearing Christ, 

Did you hear Him? 
As hanging upon the cursed tree. 
He pleaded, — "Oh, Father, forgive 

them—" 
He did it for you and for me. 

The cross-bearing Christ, 

Do you feel now 
The warmth of His great loving heart 
As gently He draws you now to Him? 
Oh, do not say to him, "Depart!" 

The cross-bearing Christ, 

Can you doubt Him 
Who gave up all heaven for you? 
Fling doubts to the wind and surrender — 
'Tis all that He asks you to do. 



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\^S3 ^^0^ Fifty-five 



The cross-bearing Christ, 

How we love Him — 
We who've tested His love, o'er and o'er- 
We bear now our cross with rejoicing 
For He giveth strength, more and more. 



Gone To Rest. 



[In memory of Grandpa Beaver, who 
died June 25th, 1881, aged 84 years.] 

Another Grandpa's gone to rest, 

'Neath Linden's sod; 
Another spirit 'mong the blest, 

At home with God. 

Another laborer's work is done, 

And so complete. 
Another weary race is run, 

Rest! tired feet. 

Another gloomy new-made grave. 

So cold and still; 
Another room and vacant chair 

That none can fill. 



Page Fifty-six 



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Another grandma left to mourn, 

Her loss so great; 
Another soul by angels borne 

To heaven's gate. 

Another class is now bereft 

Of teacher true; 
Another face is still in death, 

We loved to view. 

Another sad farewell is said 

By loved ones here; 
Another numbered with the dead, 

To us so dear. 

Another song by Angels sung 

Around God's throne; 
Another endless life begun, 

In that "Sweet Home." 

Another death, another life. 

The story's old; 
Another cross, another crown, 

A harp of gold. 




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